


Tainted

by Nekositting



Series: It Came and It Went: A Tumblr Prompt Repository [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Both of them are drunk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Night Stands, Romance, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 05:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18114545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Nekositting
Summary: “I’ve been curious.”“Oh?” Hermione inquired with a lift of a brow, a spark of adrenaline bolting through her at the heat in his eyes. He was aroused even if she couldn’t tell apart his pupils from the rest of his irises. His cheeks had taken on a flushed hue, and his mouth—His teeth caught his bottom lip before letting it go.Hermione’s insides warmed, anticipating what it was he was about to say.“What is the most sexually deviant thing you’ve ever done?”





	Tainted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NinjaFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/gifts).



> This is the fluffiest thing I've ever written for TMR/HG.
> 
> I apologize for making you wait so long for this, Ninja. I hope the laugh you get out of this is worth your while.
> 
> Thank you, Blue, for your patience <3

**Present**

“I told you already, I have to finish this paper. It’s due two weeks from now–”

“Hermione.”

Her mouth clicked shut at the finality in his tone. Tom had his arms crossed, a stubborn set to his jaw that she saw all too often when she glanced in the mirror.

“You need a break. You’ve been at this for six hours. I don’t think you’ve moved short of going to the bathroom.”

Hermione snapped her book shut, the mess of papers on the kitchen table taunting her. Her laptop was open, three different windows open with annotations and pieces of texts. Her paper was more than a little over the halfway point. Still, she couldn’t seem to part with it now. She had just had a breakthrough fifteen minutes prior about her thesis and–

“Hermione. Your research is not going to grow legs and leave your flat if you elect to take a break.”

Hermione swore beneath her breath before saving all the files she had opened and closing the laptop. She wasn’t going to win this one, she knew. As stubborn as she was, Tom wasn’t above wrestling her out of the chair and out into the hallway if she resisted.

He’d done it once already.

“ _Fine.”_

Hermione rose from her seat, her spine protesting from the movement after slouching in her seat. She’d need to visit a chiropractor by the end of her graduate studies, she knew. A therapist, too, if she was being honest with herself. She thought her undergraduate studies back in England had been stressful enough, but it seemed that the graduate program in the United States was testing what remained of her endurance.

“Glad we could come to an agreement. As much as I admire your tenacity, I find that you pushing yourself to the point of breaking distasteful.”

Hermione snorted when Tom took hold of her hand, his fingers soft and warm. She couldn’t help but admire them. These were the same hands that roamed over her back, massaging away the stress of her late night studies in the late hours of the evening. These were the same hands that had stopped her in her tracks, that had made her gather up the courage to ask for his name one afternoon when she’d been nosing through the university bookstore.

Why they had seemed vaguely familiar all those months ago, she still didn’t know.

“Have you looked at yourself? If I’m tenacious, then what does that make you? Obsessive? When you go off on your own little projects, you hardly sleep a wink.”

Tom lifted a brow before dragging her to the front door of her flat, his other hand snatching the keys from the kitchen counter on the way.

“I sleep just fine, thank you.”

Hermione laughed on the way out of her apartment. She couldn’t stop it. She didn’t need to see his face to know just what expression he was wearing—a cross between scandalised and haughty, she was sure. It was subtle, but after a whole year of putting up with his shite, she could tell when he was lying and when he was up to something nefarious.

“Sure you do, Tom.”

* * *

  **One Year and 6 Months Earlier**

Hermione could think of hundreds of different places she’d rather be.

A frat house was _not_ one of them.

“Oh come on, Hermione. Lighten up, will you?” Ginny insisted, a tight grip on her arm that was anything but pleasant, but Hermione didn’t otherwise comment. She dug her feet into the ground, the ridiculous heels Ginny had put her in finally being put to adequate use. It was probably the only good thing these shoes amounted for aside from _crippling_ people.

“Don’t make me drag you in there like a stubborn mule. You know I _would_ ,” Ginny threatened, her voice taking on a sweet tone that made even Hermione sweat while in the middle of the coldest bloody front of the year. It was spring, and by all accounts, it should be warming up. The gooseflesh rippling over her arms and the subtle breeze chilling her to the very marrow of her bones, however, indicated otherwise.

“And, it’s bloody cold outside. You’re going to freeze in that dress if you decide to stay out here.”

Hermione shot Ginny a scathing look.

Dress? Hermione was hard pressed to give it that kind of description. The little black number was skintight, the hem of the skirt barely going past mid-thigh. It was backless, the sleeves non-existent. It was a miracle, indeed, that a police officer on duty hadn’t arrested her on the spot for indecent exposure.

“And exactly who’s _bright_ idea was it to put me in this dress? I told you I didn’t want to come here. I’ve got finals, Ginny,” Hermione seethed, teeth clenching so hard that they ached. Ginny made no indication that she’d been listening, yanking on Hermione’s arm with all the strength the red-head possessed.

If Hermione didn’t leave with bruises after this, it’d be a miracle. Hermione wasn’t counting on it, though.

“Come on, _please_. It doesn’t have to be the whole night. I just didn’t want to show up by myself, y’know?”

Ginny switched tactics. Her voice took on a more pleading quality, her eyes wide and—Hermione wanted to stamp her feet—teary. Hermione hated that look the most. It _always_ worked.

“ _Fine_ ,” Hermione sighed after a beat, nearly falling over herself when she unmoored her feet at the same time Ginny tugged on her arm. Hermione’s hands windmilled for balance, her knees wobbling in a precarious manner.

God, she _hated_ heels. She never could get the hang of the blasted things.

You would think that after attending the many networking events hosted by the different universities in the city she’d have gotten the hang of it. It was unfortunate that that wasn’t the case.

“Just two hours, I _promise_. You won’t regret it,” Ginny winked, and Hermione rolled her eyes, a smile tugging on her lips despite her earlier annoyance. It might not have been Hermione’s ideal. What with the damn frat house on the opposite end of the street being the last place she needed to be in the worst point of the semester, but—

At least Ginny wasn’t alone.

Of course, it wasn’t like Ginny wasn’t more than capable of defending herself. Hermione knew for a fact that the red-head could. Ginny had a mean right hook, and with the time she spent trying to keep in shape, if the girl had no other choice but to run, Ginny had the stamina.

However, that didn’t mean that Hermione was about to let Ginny walk into a pack of wolves. Hermione knew the frat guy type. For all of Ginny’s quick-wit and fiery personality, she was still an undergraduate student that had yet to experience the true pitfalls of Greek Life. It was up to Hermione to keep an eye on her, to guide her through the process.

Even if 'guiding' might, depending on the circumstance, mean punching a sod in the face in Ginny’s defence. Hermione might not be the athlete Ginny was, but what she lacked in fitness, she made up for with ingenuity.

“If I fail these exams because of you, know that I will haunt you _and_ your next-of-kin long after you’ve died,” Hermione muttered, linking her arm with Ginny’s when her legs began to tremble once again, the clack of her heels on the ground inspiring less and less confidence in her manoeuvring.

Hermione hoped she didn’t trip. The was the last thing she needed. A purpling bruise while studying for exams was not the look she wanted to have.

“ _Hermione_ , please. You’re not going to fail. You’re a walking brain,” Ginny said, shooting Hermione a confident smile that made the red-head’s brown eyes smoulder and sparkle. Hermione only sighed.

“And, no harm has ever come from a little bit of fun!”

Hermione tried not to snort.

_Debatable._

* * *

Hermione made a disgusted face when they finally arrived, the scent of cigarette smoke and marijuana thick in the air. There was no question she would have to wash her hair thoroughly after this. That her curls were pinned back and tied into a messy-braid wouldn’t change this outcome.

Hair just bloody sucked everything up.

“It’s not that bad, it _could_ be worse,” Ginny chimed in after taking note of Hermione’s face. Her bright red hair was glimmering beneath the lights of the house. Hermione tried not to scowl, taking note of Ginny’s smile, her teeth a sparkling white. “Besides, we _did_ go in through the smoke room. I think the liquor is over this way.”

Hermione followed Ginny’s path, Hermione’s arm linking with Ginny’s, as they made their way through groups of college students coughing and sucking in smoke through their mouths. Some had tapered white sticks between their lips, others brown cigars, and some—well— were smoking out of things Hermione had never seen.

Before Hermione could take a better look, however, Ginny tugged her through a door and out of the room.

Hermione sucked in a large gulp of fresh air at the same time she looked at her new surroundings.

They were in the living room, bodies of men and women milling about with red cups in hand. The music was blaring, the flashing lights dizzying.

In the smoke room, the music had been a low thrum. Whether that was because she’d been too preoccupied trying to breathe through the smoke or the fact the walls had blocked out most of the noise, Hermione couldn’t be sure.

Regardless, Hermione had, somehow, traded one hell for another. The new space was no better. The music was so obnoxious she could barely make sense of her own thoughts. By this point, she was clinging onto Ginny’s hand, letting the girl manoeuvre through the house. They went through the den, past the strobe lights blinking above her head, and it was only when they were standing by a table set up with an array of bottles atop its surface, did they stop.

Hermione had never been happier to see alcohol. At first, she’d been certain she was going to remain _sober_ the whole night, to be about her wits while Ginny enjoyed herself. Now, however, Hermione wasn’t sure she could survive the night otherwise.

Hermione jerked her hand out of Ginny’s grip, ignoring the questioning looks her friend cast her, before opening the first unopened bottle she saw. She didn’t trust any of these pricks not to lace their drinks and wasn’t about to end up on the news as a date-rape victim.

Although she’d never experienced that sort of trauma herself, Hermione had heard enough about it to be aware of the dangers. The stories her colleagues had shared were hair-raising. Truly, it was enough to make her all the more critical of the college experience.

With that in mind and a swell of irritation in her chest, she poured about an inch of vodka into the cup she’d snatched. Ginny was at her side, watching her, as Hermione poured herself a drink before passing the bottle over with a huff.

“Best you stick to unopened bottles of vodka, Gin. You don’t know what could be in these,” Hermione gestured to the cemetery of open bottles on the table, some of them missing their caps and others completely free of their packaging. “And since you didn’t bring your own alcohol as I _told_ you, well, we’ll have to make do.”

Ginny frowned, but didn’t complain. She took the bottle Hermione was offering, and then, before Hermione could even think to stop her, Ginny tipped the end of it into Hermione’s cup instead. Hermione shoved her, but it was too late. The cup was a little under a quarter full. It was more than Hermione had planned to drink.

Outrage burned up in her stomach and a heavy breath blew out of her nose.

“What are you bloody _doing_?” Hermione hissed when Ginny grabbed her own cup, and began to fill hers as if Hermione hadn’t said a thing. The smile on Ginny’s face only added insult to injury.

“Making sure we don’t have to refill our cups again,” Ginny replied, her tone matter-of-fact. The moment she finished pouring, Ginny opened a bottle of orange juice that was still in its packaging. For better or for worse, it seemed it hadn’t been touched by any the other guests. “Oh come of it, we both know that if you’re lucid here that you’re going to spend the whole night moaning at me.”

_The whole night…_

Hermione’s eyes narrowed.

“I thought we agreed to two _hours_ , Ginny?” She asked, her drink sloshing when she laid it on the table for a moment. Hermione hardly noticed when Ginny began to pour orange juice in Hermione’s cup. Hermione shot Ginny a scathing look.

“It’s a figure of _speech_. I promised you only two hours and that’s what we’ll do. Don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” Ginny said, a devious gleam in her gaze that Hermione did not like at all. Something was up.

The last time Ginny had given someone that look, Harry and Ron had ended up with their brows shaved off.

“Now then, enough chat, let’s _dance_ ,” Ginny announced before taking a generous gulp of her drink, her eyes staring at Hermione from over the rim.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

_Typical._

Ginny swiped her lip as soon as she finished drinking, catching all the droplets that didn’t make it down her gullet before grinning. Hermione had yet to touch her drink. It sat on the table, her hand trembling around it.

“You might want to start drinking though. I know just how much you _love_ dancing.”

With a frown and a low curse that was drowned out by the noise in the den, Hermione threw back her drink, the burn of vodka warming her from her throat down to her stomach. It was both rewarding and familiar.

Hermione savoured the taste.

It was strong stuff. Not necessarily good quality, being that it was some generic bottle of vodka one could get for cheap at any grocery store, but it would do. They were at a frat party, she couldn’t afford to be picky.

“Now then, let’s go have some fun!” Ginny grabbed her by the arm once again, and Hermione shook her head, tipping the drink back into her waiting mouth to settle the nerves fluttering in her chest.

_Gods, this was going to be a long two hours._

* * *

Hermione was, in every sense of the word, pissed.

The lights were blinding and dizzying, but she couldn’t stop dancing and laughing. Her cup was empty in her hand, but Ginny’s was still half-full, the liquid inside sloshing with each move of her body. A fact Hermione had become more than aware of after Ginny had spilled vodka on her dress more than once.

Hermione didn’t mind, though. She didn’t mind much of anything with her stomach flooded with warmth.

“Want more?” Ginny yelled over the music.  Hermione could only nod, vision swaying with each twist of her hips.

God, she didn’t know why she had been so upset with this whole thing. This was the most fun she’d had in _years_.

Everyone was either chatting or dancing with their own date in some darkened corner of the dance floor. It was all Ginny and Hermione’s, and though, normally, that would have made Hermione nervous. It didn’t now. Not when her veins were flooded with vodka, and Ginny pushed her drink against Hermione’s lips, encouraging her to drink.

The hangover was going to be terrible the following morning. Hermione barely spared that consideration a thought.

Not when her eyes shifted, going beyond the rim of Ginny’s cup, and—

Hermione froze, nearly choking on her drink.

Dark eyes were gazing back at her. Like the bottom of the ocean in a moonless night.

_Christ._

A breath hissed from between her teeth, her hand shoving the drink back into Ginny’s hold to get a better look, to take him in. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or his own appearance, but from where she was standing, the bloke was easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

He was dressed entirely in black, his slacks plastered onto his thighs in a way that made her fingers itch to touch. It was obscene how great he looked, how she couldn’t stop staring, wondering to herself if those legs were as strong as they looked.

“Oh, now he just looks positively _sinful_ ,” Ginny whispered into her ear, the humour in her voice enough to make Hermione come back to herself. She blinked, dazed, before a furious heat spread over her cheeks.

 _Oh gods_.

Hermione’s feet swayed beneath her, but she didn’t dare look away, even when her mouth opened and closed, throat tight. At Ginny’s low laugh, Hermione’s cheeks only grew warmer.

“You should talk to him. He looks pretty interested,” Ginny teased, but Hermione had stopped listening. For at that moment, the handsome stranger had begun to move toward them, his gait fluid and confident. Hermione’s insides flipped, her heart racing in her chest.

_Oh no._

“W-wait Ginny, I don’t think I—”

But Ginny was no longer behind her when she turned. In the time that Hermione had been panicking, unable to tear her eyes away from the stranger that had started moving towards her, her friend had disappeared.

Ginny was nowhere to be found, her bright red hair lost in the sea of bodies in the house and the dark spots dancing across Hermione’s vision.

Hermione swore beneath her breath.

_I’m going to kill her._

Hermione was going to strangle her with her bare hands and make sure no one could find the bloody body.

“Hello, love.”

* * *

  **Present**

“Well, this is certainly unexpected.”

When Tom had dragged her out of her flat with her only her in a tattered pair of jeans and an oversized sweater, she hadn’t expected that he’d be taking her to little Italian restaurant a couple blocks over from the undergraduate side of campus.

“A good unexpected, I would hope.” Hermione didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she took her seat in furthest corner of the room, her back against the wall. Tom took the seat right next to hers, his hand settling atop hers.

That was one of the many things she didn’t understand about Tom. It was in the little things, but still, often, it felt as though there was some greater piece to the puzzle that she was missing. Like when he chose to sit beside her rather than sit in front of her or, if that wasn’t possible, his hand found its way into hers.

_As though he were starving for both her attention and touch._

Which wouldn’t be surprising to her, in the least. Both Tom’s ego and narcissism were about as large as they were annoying. It didn’t help that everyone else around them fed that little monster.

And yet, in spite of how much it grated, he was far more considerate of her needs than anyone she had ever met before. He did things for her without her needing to ask, he entertained her theories and pushed her when no other would. He wasn’t perfect, but neither was she.   

“Too soon to tell.”

Hermione’s face turned to his, and a warmth spread in her chest at the sight of his smile. It was small and restrained, but it was genuine. It wasn’t the pretty ones he put on for his colleagues or her parents. It wasn’t the charismatic mask he put on for his instructors and her colleagues.

“I’m insulted.”

Hermione smirked at him. She took his hand into hers, knitting together their fingers. Tom didn’t so much as blink at her expression, his own lips becoming more pointed and shrewd.

“Are you?” Hermione teased, her breath catching in her throat when Tom pressed his side against hers. His expression had shifted once again. There was something there, clawing up beneath the surface, aching to be freed. Familiar and exciting in a way she couldn’t even begin to explain.

They’d yet to have sex, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t had the opportunity to become familiar with their bodies. Even if, oddly enough, she knew where to touch him and he, to touch her, without explanation. It was like they’d been intimate before, but that was such a silly thought.

“I am.”

The last time she’d had sex, it had been with a stranger with eyes dark as the bottom of a well and a tongue that could cut her on its edges. She didn’t remember much of that evening. But what she could remember, still had a way of climbing its way out from the haze of intoxication.

Something about the press of Tom’s mouth to her neck, of his teeth grazing her bottom lip, always made it come to life.

“What are you going to do about it?”

* * *

  **One Year and 6 Months Earlier**

Hermione breath caught in her throat, her thoughts coming to a standstill at the warm and decadent sound. It made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end, her insides clench into tight coils.

He was _British_.

Gods, how long had it been since she’d met another Brit since coming to America? It’d been ages. Two years, in fact, since she’d started graduate school in the states and left everything she knew behind. Her only link to the world of tea and crumpets, the red-headed girl who’d just bloody abandoned her.

Hermione turned to look at him, bracing herself.

If he had been beautiful from a distance, then here, centimetres from her, he was perfection. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black despite the flashing lights above their head. His hair fell in smooth waves above his head, styled into a flawless coif with a single curl betraying that impeccable order.

And then there were his lips. They were stretched into a smile, sweet and angelic. It made his face glow, betrayed a softness that made her momentarily fearful she’d tarnish it by just looking at him.

“I-er hello,” Hermione choked out, voice so high-pitched it made her wonder if she’d swallowed a bloody frog. Her cheeks were on fire.

The stranger’s smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners with what Hermione suspected was amusement. Hermione swallowed, mouth dry.

His mouth twitched. Hermione tried to compose herself.

_Get a grip._

“You’re British? Can’t say I expected it all the way here in America,” he said before stepping closer, invading her space. Hermione didn’t step away. To her surprise, she didn’t mind at all. Whether that was because of her alcoholic stupor or simply her attraction to him, Hermione couldn’t be sure.

She craned her neck to maintain a clearer view of his face, her spine protesting at being forced to arch it in that manner. He was taller than he’d looked from across the room. It was absurd.

“I could say the same about you, we’re a bit of a rare species here,” Hermione said, wanting to kick herself for the breathless quality in her voice. She hadn’t bothered to raise her voice. It was unnecessary, even with the music pulsing in the background, when his face was inches from hers.

“True, and please, forgive me if I’m being too forward, but—” his eyes flashed with something hot and wild, his lip twitching into an expression that was neither polite nor sweet. Hermione’s knees shook, mouth parting with a surprised ‘o’ at the darkness she found lurking in the depths of his eyes.

_What are you doing, Hermione?_

“Would you like to go elsewhere? I’m afraid the music is terribly distracting. I would very much like to hear your voice without the miscellaneous additions.”

A smile stretched over her lips for the first time since he’s approached her, suddenly emboldened by the hunger— _yes, that’s what that was_ —in his gaze and his interest. He hadn’t torn his eyes from her since they’d started talking, and Hermione wasn’t about to let this opportunity go now that it was there. Not when he was dangled in front of her like a delicious treat that she wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into.

_What are you doing, Hermione?_

“I would love to,” Hermione said in the most seductive voice she could muster, a grin breaking out on her face when he visibly swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. This was not who she was. Hermione Granger didn’t do one-night stands, she didn’t quiver when caught beneath the stare of a handsome bloke. But—

_What’s one night? A couple of hours to forget the stresses of your life? To lose yourself in another body and wake up refreshed to get back to exams?_

Then, his hand was on hers, leading her from out of the dance floor and away from the chatter and pulsing music. Her feet drifted without issue, a sharp contrast to her earlier fumbling while stone cold sober.

You would think, considering her state, she’d be worse for wear, but she wasn’t. In his grip, it was like Hermione was _flying_.

Another tug, and Hermione laughed, forcing her trembling legs to follow behind him.

He was mountainous. Like all the slinking shadows she’d used to stare at while she’d been a little girl, fixating on the way her fingers made the darkness bend into unfathomable shapes.

He tilted his head, the pale length of his neck twisting. Hermione caught his eyes, unable to pull away from their depths. They flashed red and green beneath the strobe lights. Mesmerising. Hermione’s fingers itched to touch them, and very nearly did, if not for the hand holding hers.  

“Mind your step.”

Hermione blinked, the hold in his eyes breaking to stare up at a flight of stairs just inches from where they’d stopped. She didn’t know where they were going, how they’d ended up _here_.

He pulled on her arm, and then, they were trekking up that flight of stairs a step at a time. Her mouth parted, a question thick in her throat.

It was gone the instant she took her first step.

Hermione’s mouth watered, eyes settling on the arse in front of her. His trousers hugged the swell of it, tempting. Hermione had never wanted to bite an arse more than she did in that moment.

But before she could grope him and make an utter fool of herself, they were upstairs, the music weaker on the upper floor. She sighed, relieved to be able to hear her thoughts, to be able to think more clearly now that she wasn’t drowning.

He yanked her deeper into the hallway, and Hermione didn’t fight it, following him down until they were winding up another set off stairs, older and less glossy than the one they’d flown through earlier. Hermione’s heart was beating fast in her chest, her fingers squeezing his, her cheeks aching from the too wide smile on her face.

She had wanted to strangle Ginny earlier for abandoning her, but now, Hermione thought she might reward her, might give her a bloody Starbucks gift card to last her through her finals for this opportunity.

The stranger turned to face her once he’d reached the top floor, the walls packed in so close that it was a miracle his shoulders fit in the narrow opening. Hermione didn’t mind the tight fit.

It didn’t matter. Not when he bent down in front of her to grab her by the backs of her thighs and lift. The unpainted state of the walls and the weak thrum of music below all but faded away at the touch of his hands against her bare skin.

Hermione let out a squeal, the air whooshing out of her lungs when his fingers squeezed her, his nails sinking into the skin. Her dress billowed out, cold air kissing her skin where his skin didn’t, and Hermione thought she might die, her vision spinning in front of her.

Her fingers found his hair, curling around the strands for purchase, to card through them like she’d wanted to from the moment she’d seen him. They were soft beneath her grip, and Hermione’s toes curled at the sensation, at the heady laughter that rumbled from his mouth now inches from hers.

His breath was heavy with the scent of alcohol. It made her head spin, the smell alone an intoxicant.

Then, her mouth was on his before she could stop herself, her teeth on his bottom lip, tugging it into her mouth to suck at the skin. Dark chocolate and wine assaulted her senses, and she moaned into the kiss, devouring him with a desperation she didn’t know she possessed.

 _Oh_ , she thought, dark spots dancing along her vision where his eyes should have been.

He tasted divine.

He tightened his grip around her to the point of pain, but Hermione didn’t stop, couldn’t. Her legs wrapped around his waist and ground up against him, seeking out the hardness and desperate to stoke the fire flooding through her veins.

She opened her eyes, bleary and hazed, unsure of when she closed them, and gasped, keening into his open mouth when he thrust against her, pressing his cock against her clothed cunt. It was euphoric and heady, the way he grazed her _just so_ with a mere roll of his hips.

She didn’t want him to stop.

“ _Shite_ ,” Hermione swore against his mouth, pulling on his hair and deepening the kiss. She wanted more. More of his mouth and his touch and—

He yanked his mouth away from hers, the loss of that heat enough to draw out a disappointed moan. She didn’t want him to stop. Not now.

But he didn’t let her go. With his fingers digging into her thighs, he carried her through another doorway.

A chill swept through her, her arms rippling with gooseflesh when frigid air kissed her skin.

She blinked, her eyes tearing away from the carnal look on his face, his pupil blown so wide that she couldn’t tell where his irises began and they ended, and glanced up.

They were on the roof, the brilliant twinkles of the stars winking at her.

* * *

  **Present**

“You were right.” Hermione dabbed her mouth to clean off the remnants of the pasta sauce still clinging to the sides of her mouth. The dish Tom had recommended had exceeded her expectations. Between the flavor of the chicken breast, cooked to perfection, and the rich sauce that it had been paired with, it had easily become one of her favourites.

It was unfortunate she couldn’t recreate the dish. Her cooking was abysmal at best. No matter how many cook books she’d read or YouTube videos she’d watched, she never could advance past the fried egg.

“This was delicious. I never would have expected a restaurant this close to campus to be such a great spot.”

Tom had long since finished eating. He had opted to watching her from over the rim of his wine glass, taking sips every so often while she savoured her meal. He wasn’t one to fill the room with needless chatter, she had found. It had made her self-conscious to bear the brunt of his quiet stare the first few times she’d gone out to lunch and dinner with him, but now, she was accustomed to it.

Tom was just Tom. Staring and all.

“That means I win.”

Hermione laid her fork back on her plate, shifting in her seat when Tom’s stare became more intent and invasive. She hated when he did that. It was like he was peeling back layer after layer of her skin to peek inside her mind. She didn’t know how he managed to do it with just a glance, but god, did it drive her up the bloody _wall._

“I wasn’t aware we were playing a game,” Hermione said as she reached for her own glass of wine. She hadn’t touched it in the entire time they’d been at the restaurant. It was only two in the afternoon, after all. Her paper was also waiting for her back in her flat, even a little glass of wine could prove fatal to her productivity.

It always made her sleepy.

“We’re always playing a game, you and I. It is on that basis alone we’ve yet to kill each other.”

Hermione shook her head, twirling the glass of wine between her fingers. That was true. He had his habits and she had hers. These little games took the edge off, even if they did frustrate her when he cheated. This time, though, he was playing fair.

“Fine. I’ll bite.”

Hermione dropped the glass back down, her elbows coming down on the table. Tom’s eyes sparkled at her, and then, he was draining what was left of his wine from his glass and dropping it back down to the table. He wanted something.

He always did. Tom was a simple man in that sense.

“I’ve been curious.”

“Oh?” Hermione inquired with a lift of a brow, a spark of adrenaline bolting through her at the heat in his eyes. He was aroused even if she couldn’t tell apart his pupils from the rest of his irises. His cheeks had taken on a flushed hue, and his mouth—

His teeth caught his bottom lip before letting it go.

Hermione’s insides warmed, anticipating what it was he was about to say.

“What is the most sexually deviant thing you’ve ever done?”

* * *

  **One Year and 6 Months Earlier**

“A-and here I thought you wanted to chat,” Hermione breathed, throwing her head back when his mouth latched onto her throat, when his hands spread over her arse to grind harder into her, pressing up against her clit through her knickers. Hermione choked out a moan.

“Chat?” he said into her throat before sinking his teeth into her skin. Hermione’s breath caught, jerking and twisting in his hold. Her toes curled, her spine arcing and bowing into him. She’d never considered herself a masochist, but tonight was, apparently, a night of many revelations. “I said I wanted to hear your voice, darling.”

“O-oh, did you?” Hermione said between clenched teeth, yanking him closer to her neck, desperate to feel him against her. “Could have heard me loud and clear while still in the—”

Hermione yelped when they were suddenly falling forward, her stomach quivering and jolting when she landed on top of him, her hands on either side of his head with his face under hers. His eyes were glittering with mirth, his angelic features morphing into an expression that was manifestly not innocent.

“That is true, however—”

He ground into her sex in emphasis, his teeth catching on his bottom lip. Hermione released a stuttering breath, the wheeze slowly melting into a laugh.

“—I think I would much rather hear your screams.”

Well, if this was what they were going to do, then far be it from her to refuse. They never had to see one another after this. This didn’t have to follow her beyond the fling that it would be, than the promise of a hot mouth against her skin and strong hands gripping and kneading at her arse.

In an act more bold that she thought she was capable of, Hermione pulled away to sit against his groin and grind against him. He groaned from the stimulation, and Hermione couldn’t help the grin that spread along her face when she took that opportunity to peel off her dress.

His eyes appraised her, took her in from her parted thighs to her breasts. His mouth was parted, and it was after another roll of her hips into his that he let out the groan building in his throat.

Hermione smirked and tossed the cloth somewhere out of view. She fumbled with her bra, her eyes taking in the way his cheeks flushed and his hair fell on his forehead. It was freezing out here, but Hermione was burning like a furnace, the gulp of alcohol she’d had before coming outside making her forget the chilly air. Or maybe that was him? She couldn’t be sure.

“Do you now? I was starting to think the same thing,” Hermione said, the sound melting into a pleased hiss when his fingers trailed against the crack of her arse, settling over her hips to make her gasp and twitch.

With a click, her bra loosened and Hermione tossed that too, uncaring of where it landed. His eyes fell on her bare chest, and Hermione felt a gush of warmth spread inside her knickers at the way his gaze raked over her hardened nipples, the buds cold and aching, all the way down to her quivering stomach, and lower still where their bodies were rocking into one another.

Hermione bit her lip when he squeezed her hips to the point of pain, his eyes flashing with dangerous hunger. Her hands cupped her breasts, much like she often did when alone, when most stressed and in need of a reprieve from the hell of exams, and flicked over her nipples.

“ _Shite._ ”

She ground into him over and over, assuming control for the moment, unable to hear him over the rush of blood flooding her ears. It felt amazing. With each roll of her hips, each press of her sex against his, she was drowning in ecstasy.

His hands dipped into her knickers, and Hermione jolted, his fingers trailing over her arse and down, down, _down_ until they found her tight heat, wet and pooling between her thighs. The fingers parted her, opened her through her underwear, and Hermione’s back arched, a moan catching in her throat when those fingers grazed her clit, soft and gentle.

Hermione bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood, her hand climbing up to mouth lip to stop from shouting, to bite down on her fingers instead of chewing her lip raw. A finger pushed inside her, and Hermione’s eyes flickered to his face, as if his eyes had compelled her to look.

A smile was playing on his lip, soft and innocent, but his _eyes_ —

They ate her alive, promised to devour her whole.

Hermione didn’t mind. She’d gladly let herself be consumed as long as his finger kept touching inside her, continued to rub light circles against her.

God, she didn’t even know his _name_ and yet, she couldn’t stop. Not when desire was building in her centre, demanding that she keep _moving,_ that those fingers keep curling against her.

Even through the haze, the ecstasy swimming through her veins, a smaller voice insisted in getting a name.

“Y-your name.” Hermione said, breathless, as a second finger forced itself inside, the wet squelch making her toes curl. “What is it? So I know what to scream once you’re inside me.”

The stranger’s smile wavered, the groan that followed enough to raise the hairs in Hermione’s arms stand on end. His teeth were chewing his bottom lip raw even as his fingers pushed into her.

_He is just as close as you are._

Hermione laughed, light and airy, eyes falling shut when his fingers _curled_. Then, she was lost, sinking into the pleasure, into _him_.

_He is just as lost as you are._

“Tom.”

* * *

  **Present**

Hermione felt like all the air had been knocked right out of her.

That was not what she’d been expecting.

“W-what?” Hermione said, her voice so high it bordered on shrill. “Are you serious right now?”

Tom leaned forward to lay his chin on his hand. There was a self-satisfied look in his eyes, like he’d expected this sort of reaction from her from the start. Hermione tried not to grind her teeth in her mouth. Her parents would not be happy if she ruined her teeth after all the hard work they’d put in caring for them.

“Dead serious.”

Hermione pushed her face into her hands before she moaned, a rush of warmth curling over her cheeks. Her sexual life had been barren since she’d started graduate school, and even before then, she hadn’t been the most daring. She was safe. She slept with her boyfriends for love, and–

 _Except that isn’t completely true, is it?_ A voice murmured in the back of her head. Hermione lifted her head from her hands to cast Tom a frustrated glance. She hadn’t planned on having wine this afternoon, but given the subject-matter, she was going to need it.

She grabbed the glass by the stem without so much as looking away from Tom’s probing stare before taking a generous gulp. It was bitter and everything that she had imagined it would be. Sadly, though, it didn’t take the edge off the reality of what she was about to discuss.

This was something she hadn’t told anyone. Not even _Ginny_ , who had abandoned her on that fateful evening to give her ‘privacy.’

“Okay.”

Tom’s lips curled further, the expression like that of the cat that caught the canary. For a brief moment, Hermione entertained the thought of flinging her wine at him. It would only be fair.

“I’ll tell you. J-just wipe that bloody look off your face,” Hermione snapped, her hand shaking with her nerves.

“What look?” Tom said, his face taking on an expression that someone else could mistake for innocent. Hermione couldn’t help but scowl at him. She hated when he did that. Innocent? Tom?

_Utterly absurd._

“Cut the crap, Tom. I won’t budge if you keep toying with me.”

That sobered him up at once. His expression cleared, taking on a more respectful look. It didn’t look like he was on the brink of laughter or eating her, and that was, in her book, a vast improvement.

“You could say I had a bit of a...one-off encounter with a stranger.”

Tom’s posture straightened, his eyes darkening with a look she couldn’t place. She went on as if she hadn’t notice, if only to get this conversation over and done with.

“It was about a year ago. I was drunk, and well, so was he.”

Tom lifted a brow at her before he spoke. Hermione took a sip from her glass to settle her nerves.

“So a drunken shag with a bloke? My, here I was thinking that you’d done something a little more daring.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned, her grip tightening on her glass. If it snapped, Tom was paying for her medical expenses.

“If you would let me _finish_ , then perhaps I can tell you what it was about the encounter that—” Hermione cut herself off before she could say any more. What the bloody hell was she doing? Why was she telling _him_ of all people?

The safest and least intrusive option was to tell him as little as possible, or better yet, pass it off as some uninteresting one-time thing and move on with their lives. It was what she _should_ have done, but then, she’d opened her bloody mouth.

“Oh?”

Tom’s interest had been piqued, she could tell from the curve of his shoulders and the way his head tilted to one side like some predatory creature. It didn’t usually unsettle her, but in that moment, given the circumstances, she wished he’d look somewhere else.

“Then please, don’t let me not stop you. Go on. I’m _all_ ears.”

Hermione swallowed another generous amount of wine, not at all appreciating the way Tom smiled at her next to her, before clearing her throat.

_Rip the bandaid off, Hermione._

“He took me to the roof of the frat house here, and he—” Hermione choked on the words.

_Come on, Hermione._

Tom’s expression remained unchanged, but there was a glimmer in his eyes she couldn’t decipher. She sucked a deep breath before she continued.

“—he took absolute control. He even ate my _arse_ , and I enjoyed it.”

Tom sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening with such surprise that Hermione was momentarily torn away from the scene unfolding behind her eyes. He snatched her chin, bringing her close to his face as if he were just seeing her for the first time.

“Tom?”

He blinked at her multiple times.

“It’s interesting that you say that,” Tom said after a moment, his voice so soft she almost didn’t hear it over the low chatter of the restaurant and the music playing in the background. “I have the same memory.”

* * *

  **One Year and 6 Months Earlier**

A laugh wanted to rumble from her throat.

 _Tom_.

That couldn’t possibly be his na—

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, mouth falling open with a wide ‘o’ when he thrust his fingers faster and harder, the hand still clutching at her arse tracing the crease to prod against her–

“W-wait, not—”

The words died in her mouth when that hand skirted past her arsehole and slid over the sticky mess between her thighs, as if collecting the juices. She seized up when that hand began to rub her clit, when he continued to plunge his fingers deep and hard, showing her without saying just what his cock would do once it was buried deep inside her.

“I think—” He said, his voice melting into a breathless groan. Hermione’s eyes flickered to his face, focusing on the way his lips stretched into a mischievous grin, to something that made her heart lodge in her oesophagus. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

_He looked like he could just eat her up._

Hermione clenched around his fingers despite herself, and Tom’s lip twitched, eyes dancing with dark humour now.

“—You’ve had your fun.”  

Then, they were spinning on the ground. Her mind was too slow to process what was happening.

One moment she was rubbing against him, relishing in the feeling of his fingers sliding into her, and the next, she was on her hands and knees with his hand splayed out over her navel, holding her arse up, while the other was in her hair, forcing her to bend in a way she hadn’t in _years_.

“Fuck,” Hermione swore. Tom laughed, his breath fanning across her neck, lips hot and soft against the shell of her ear.

“We’ll get to that shortly, but first—”

He ground into her arse, and Hermione sucked her bottom lip into her mouth at the same time she rocked right back, mourning the fact that he was still wearing clothes. That just wasn’t fair.

“I want to know if you taste as good as you look.”

At the same time his hand fell away from her stomach, it found the hem of her knickers. Hermione didn’t move, her stomach jolting with anticipation, expectant. She knew what this meant.

He slid them down her hips, slow. Hermione released a soft sound, but didn’t otherwise protest. Her thighs were shaking, her sex wet and dripping into her knickers. Having to leave the frat house with her knickers sopping wet was going to be a nightmare, but at the moment, with his hands in her hair and his hand sliding her knickers down, exposing more and more of her to the chill of the air, she didn’t care.

He was working her into a tizzy, and Hermione wasn’t about to make him stop.

“Lift up your leg, would you?”

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice.

 _“Good girl_. ”

Hermione bit her lip, the pleased hint of his voice making her insides contract. Her leg quivered in mid air as he tugged one end of her knickers past her knee and down her ankle.

She didn’t know why she found that so attractive, why his praise and that blasted soft lilt of his voice made her do whatever he wanted.

 _For christ sake, he didn’t even know my name_ …

And yet, when his hand tapped at her other leg to lift, she obeyed, her skin burning up when he hummed above her, seemingly delighted by her compliance.

“You’re absolutely wonderful,” he breathed, his grip on her hair tightening before smoothing over the strands that had fallen away from her braid.

“Get _on_ with it,” Hermione huffed, gasping when he began to tug at her hair, raking across the knots until it was no longer a braid but a mess of wild curls across her back. God, it was going to be a _mess_ by the end of this. She wasn’t looking forward to trying to untangle that shite later.

“Now, now, no need to get impatient,” he said, voice sly and devious, as his fingers made their way down her spine to stop over her hips.

Then, his hands were spreading her arse, opening her up for his inspection.

Hermione's cheeks burned, her forehead pressing onto the ground to hide from the embarrassment now licking up her spine. That wasn’t what she was expecting.

“What are you _doing_ ?” She hissed, hips twitching but remaining firmly in place despite it. She was curious, she had to admit. No one had ever done that before. It wasn’t _bad_ per se, but it wasn’t amazing either. It was just bloody _embarrassing_.

“Why, I’m about to eat your arse, of course.”

Hermione sputtered.

_Eat my what now?_

Suddenly, a hot and humid breath fanned over her taint and Hermione froze, unable to move. Not even the tremors running up and down her spine registered.

“I-I don’t know about that—”

Hermione’s words died in her throat, a small and weak sound wheezing past her lips when he swiped his tongue over the furled skin. It was hot and wet, and Hermione jolted, her body spurred into action.

But he was faster. He yanked her nearer to his mouth and began to suck on her arse in earnest, the sound of his slurps and gasps enough to make her ears burn. This was _obscene._ Hermione wanted to bury her head into the concrete, to scream and shout because-because—

Her toes curled when he slid his tongue against her, slow and gentle. He did not breach her, did not force his tongue inside as she expected, but kissed along each wrinkle, tasting her and tearing weak little sounds she couldn’t swallow fast enough in the back of her throat.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, through the embarrassment and shame, in some little part of her, it didn’t _feel_ all that bad. It was strange, certainly. She’d never realised how sensitive that place was, and now—

She was fighting the impulse to push back into his face. God, how _pissed_ was she that such a thing didn’t seem like a terrible idea?

His grip tightened over her arse, and Hermione’s control shattered. Emboldened by the wet and gasping sounds behind her, Hermione pushed back, her own moans torn from her throat when he continued to spread her, his tongue gliding across more and more of her rim.

“Not so uncertain now, are you?”

Her insides clenched when he laughed against her.

His tongue poked at her arse, teasing along the skin, only to pull back just when she expected him to push inside, to finally put her out of her misery.

It drove her bloody mad.

“Damn it, T-tom,” she said through clenched teeth, a violent urge swelling in her chest, tempting her to stab him with her heels. This was pure torture. He was just _teasing_ her now, toying with her bloody head.

God, if he didn’t do something more, if he didn’t get on with it, she was going to kill him. She couldn’t stand it.

A hand slid down her hip to cup her cunt and Hermione’s spine bowed. He parted her wet folds, prodded her opening, and Hermione fought to keep herself up, struggled to keep her forearms flat on the floor.

“Stop messing ar— _ah!_ ”

He forced his tongue inside at the same time he shoved two fingers into her cunt. Hermione’s knees buckled, her head snapping back to moan. His fingers curled, and Hermione’s vision swam.

His tongue was in her _arse_ , and yet, she couldn’t stop from pushing into him, from sinking into that bizarre sensation. It was indescribable what she was feeling. Hermione struggled to put it into words, to think through haze in her brain and the sensation of his tongue squirming inside her. It was _odd_ , but she wasn’t about to tell him to stop, not when this felt _good._

He swirled his tongue inside at the same time he thrust his fingers into her cunt, and her insides curled. Saliva trickled down the corner of her mouth, her mouth unable to close. Her moans came endlessly, as did his licks and sucks, those bloody _fingers_ grinding into her.

For god's sake, she thought he was going to eat her _cunt_. Not her _arse_.

A pressure began to build in her stomach, tugging and yanking at her with each graze of her fingers in that spot inside her and each glide of his tongue against her. She was so close it hurt, so near that precipice she was jerking her hips into his face, into his _hand_. She didn’t know what she was bloody doing, but as long as he didn’t stop, as long as that pressure continued to build—

He pulled back with a wet pop, the fingers scissoring and spreading her no longer curling inside. Hermione saw red.

That _prick_.

Hermione swore, twisting her head to glare, ready to tell him just that, to let loose the most scathing remark she could think of. The words never came.

She caught a glimpse of red lips and gleaming eyes before a hand threaded through her hair and shoved her face down onto the floor. Her cheek slid across the concrete.

“What the _fuck_ ?” Hermione seethed before biting back a groan when he yanked out his fingers from her cunt, and his fingers smeared her essence onto her thigh. She bucked and struggled beneath him, trying to ease the grip he had on her hair and chase after the pleasure he had just denied her. She had been so _close_ she could almost taste it.

_The audacity._

She was going to strangle him, to _choke_ him between her thighs until he suffocated to death.

The sound of a zipper cut off made her halt.

 _Oh_.

“Such a spitfire,” Tom teased, as if he’d read her thoughts. His grip did not let up, both strong and unyielding in spite of the fact she’d stopped bucking like a wild animal, both desperate and enraged at being denied her orgasm. “I wonder what else is lurking behind that innocent face of yours.”

Hermione swallowed, flinching when something tore in the silence. It sounded like plastic, or foil, she couldn’t be sure.

 _A condom_?

“I’m sorry? I don’t think I know what you mean,” Hermione said before yelping when his hand slapped against her arse. The shock of it was like lightning jolting up her spine. His hand lingered over the skin, soft and gentle. It made her bottom lip quiver, her heart swell in her chest.

Something lined up against her cunt from behind, hard and hot and wet. Hermione swore, her eyes falling shut with pain at the same time Tom dug his nails into her scalp and pushed, what could only be his prick, into her.

Hermione moaned, her toes curling from the feeling of his cock stretching her. Tom let out a breath above her, the sound melting into a groan before he pulled out and thrust back inside.

 _“Oh,_ ” Hermione breathed, hips snapping back once the initial shock of his length pushing inside passed, frantic for more. His fingers tightened on her hair, but she was long past caring. The more he pulled, the better it felt.

“You’re—” Tom hissed above her, a hand sliding down the bumps of her spine to grip her arse and draw her hips closer, nearer. Hermione let him, squeezing him with her cunt, not about to allow him take all the control. “—so tight.”

Hermione’s moans evolved into a breathy laugh, delighting in the pain of his fingers pulling her head back, forcing her to arch her spine further, to take all of him from this angle. The tips of her fingers and Tom’s hands were the only things holding her up as he pounded away.

“Don’t stop,” Hermione breathed, knees wobbling when he shifted his hips, the head of his prick now smashing against her g-spot. Hermione saw stars, her vision careening out of control.

It was like she’d downed a whole bottle of vodka. She was flying, the warmth of his skin against her, of his hand falling away from her hip to trail to her throbbing sex and tease at her clit.

Hermione squeezed him, the precipice now closer than ever.

“Your screams are divine,” Tom said, fingers circling and pushing against her clit to the point of pain, to the point that she was now babbling nonsense. Her thoughts in utter ruin.

_Please._

He paused, fingers slowing over her clit until they were no more than a whisper against her skin. Hermione almost sobbed, nearly screamed in rage, but then his mouth pressed against her ear, a warm tongue curling along the shell. His fingers paused, hovering over her slit.

She was so _close_.

“Beg,” he purred into her ear. The word was like an electric current shooting up her spine. She twitched, mouth falling open before she could stop it.

“ _What?”_ Hermione snapped, her mind still spinning from the shocks, her vision coming in and out of focus.

“You heard me,” he said, his mouth closing around the shell. She shuddered at the bite of his teeth, at the warmth of his tongue sliding from her ear down to the throat. Hermione’s thighs burned from trying to maintain the awkward angle.

“ _Beg me_ —” Tom murmured into her ear, refusing to move even as she squeezed him and squirmed to get him to bloody _move_. All he gave her was the sound of his velvet laughter. “—to get you off. Otherwise, I might just have to keep you here all evening.”

Hermione cursed beneath her breath, nose flaring with impatience and desperation. She came here for a one-night stand, not a bloody power play.

_And yet, you’re considering it right now..._

Hermione huff morphed into a gasp when the hand in her hair tightened further and the hand hovering over her clit twitched. The jolt of heat that gesture elicited was all it took to convince her.

 _To_ hell _with my pride. It wasn’t like I was ever going to see him again._

“Tom, for bloody sakes, _move_ ,” Hermione said, hoping that it would be enough, that he would be satisfied with that and finish what he’d started—

“I would hardly call that begging. In fact, that sounds more like an order,” Tom said, his voice not taking on an edge it hadn’t before. Hermione’s stomach tightened, her ears ringing.

“Beg me to let you come,” Tom demanded, mouth kissing along her ear. “Your insides are clenching desperately around me. And you’re so wet, too, listen—”

Tom took that moment to pull out, slowly. Hermione had never been more aware of each ridge and curve of that cock until that moment, of the loud _schlick_ of the condom and his cock moving between her wetness.

Hermione’s ears were burning, but that heat could not compare to the feeling when his cock, with the head now only inside her, pushed right back inside.

“Tell me how much you want to come. _Tell me._ ”

Hermione sucked in a shaky breath, her mouth moving before her mind could catch up to it.

“Please _Tom_ ,” Hermione said, voice breaking when his fingers circled around her clit. “ _Please_.”

He didn’t wait.

With a vicious grip on her hair, he pulled on her hair and began to move. He didn’t stop and neither did her cries. Not that she could have, even if she’d tried.

“Oh _hell_ ,” Hermione breathed, fingers clenching, barely able to hold her up as he pushed in and out, his fingers rubbing her clit _raw._

It was too much. So _much_.

It was brutal, it was painful and gratifying.

“Yes—”Hermione breathed, pushing into his thrusts, into the hand in her hair, relishing in the painful bite of his nails now digging into her scalp. She was choking on it, on _him_ and—

Tom’s fingers pinched her clit, and she was falling, falling, _falling._

Her vision went dark, her mouth wide with spittle running down the corners of her lips that she could not wipe away, not like this. The sensation of Tom’s hips stuttering after hers, of his hand releasing her hair and his arm snaking around her waist, the last thing she felt before passing out.

* * *

  **Present**

“That was—”

Tom’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came. Hermione could only look at him, just as at a loss for words as he was.

It wasn’t possible. Hermione pinched herself to make certain that she wasn’t dreaming. It hurt, but no matter how hard she pinched, she didn’t wake. She was stiff in her chair, unable to look away at Tom.

“That was you?”

Her cheeks were hot, practically scalding in her opinion. But how could they not be? How could she keep her damned composure when—

 _Oh god_.

Hermione had met her boyfriend a bloody _year_ before they had begun dating. And-and-

Tom was the first to compose himself, but it wasn’t by much. He still had that glazed look of shock about him.

“So you’re—”

“You mean your name was actually—”

They both spoke at the same time, Hermione’s voice shriller than his could ever be. His name had actually been _Tom_. He hadn’t given her some fake name to pass the time, to get through the motions.

“Hermione.”

She sucked in a sharp breath when Tom’s hand wrapped around hers, his eyes even more oppressive than they’d been before.

“Let’s try it again.”


End file.
